


Into the Trees

by Misha_Collins_Overlord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, Anal Fingering, Animal Death, Apodyopsis, Awkward Sam, BAMF Castiel, Basorexia, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Cataglottism, Cheiloproclitic, Dean Being an Idiot, Fae & Fairies, Faerie AU, Faerie!Cas, Frottage, Hunters & Hunting, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mamihlapinatapei, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Not much though just a slight implication so don't let the Wincest tag throw you off, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Romance, Self-Hatred, Tension, Top Castiel, Virgin Castiel, Vomiting, Wings, druxy, duende, human hate, outdoor blowjobs, outdoor masturbation, they're also relevant, yes those are actual words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_Collins_Overlord/pseuds/Misha_Collins_Overlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How are you supposed to react when your clothes are go missing and there's nobody around for miles?<br/>Dean had been living on the edge of Shoshone National Forest in Wyoming for a month when it happened.<br/>It was just him and Sam. Except for when it wasn't.<br/>They moved out to the brink of the forest after Dean had sunk into a bad place, and started him on the road to recovery. Him, Sam, and his baby, nothing for miles but trees and wildlife. Except something fierce and with a bright blue glow. And by God if Dean wasn't going to fall for him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Road to Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> This fic had been in my mind for so long and kept insisting I write it, so I'm writing it.  
> Leave some feedback? Update once a month or whenever I feel I have enough written!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s brow furrowed, “you’re overthinking this. There’s one hundred and twenty five grizzly bears in that forest and - as much as I don’t like that thought - it could be one of those. It could be any of seventy wolves that live there or even a cougar. So I have no idea what you think it is, dude, but seriously, it could be any of these.”
> 
> Dean maintained eye contact for a solid fifteen seconds, then his shoulders sagged and he turned his face away. He wiped a hand over his face. “You’re right,” he admitted.
> 
> Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what he actually thought it was. A madman who went around stealing Dean’s clothes and wearing them while running through the forest?
> 
> That’s just whack.

Dean had been living on the edge of Shoshone National Forest in Wyoming for a month when it happened. He didn't even want to live there initially. 

There was a lack of open road for him and his baby, as well as a lack of stores. He had to cut down on his drinking and ration his food appropriately - once every two months he had the money to buy two weeks worth of supplies instead of one, after putting spare money aside.  

He had a cabin that he shared with Sam. An hour away there was a resort, where they both picked up the odd job - fixing AC machines, helping out the guests with car troubles, doing repairs, which there was enough of. The guests were careless and normally, Dean would find it extremely rude, but, while he did, it was the reason he and Sam could eat. 

Occasionally, Dean would take a walk into the forest. Never deep out of fear that he'd get lost, but he would walk when his mind wouldn't quiet. It was Sam's idea to live there. 

After Dean's relationship with Lisa Braeden had gone belly up, he sank into a depression. His normally endless appetite was nonexistent, he was drinking himself into a stupor every night until he passed out, and laid in bed for days on end. He rarely showered or changed his clothes, and only ever left the house when he needed more whiskey. 

Sam had taken to caring for Dean. He moved in, coaxing his brother to eat at least one good meal a day, easing Dean out of bed to go for walks, taking a firm hand when necessary. He truly believed surrounding Dean with nature and space for him to think would help. 

And it did. He only spent a full day in bed once every three weeks, when he couldn't shake the sadness. He took a fortnight for every bottle of whiskey - not good, but much better than a full bottle every three days. He was eating a healthy amount. He showered every morning - every second one if he got lazy. 

Sam was thriving there. He went for a run every morning, grew closer to Dean, and was even growing his own vegetables. 

It was the morning that Dean was outside to bring in the clothes he'd hung out to dry that he’d noticed. The black boxers - his favourite boxers - were gone. He frowned, green eyes scanning around him. 

It made no sense. The line was four feet off of the grass, and there was only a slight breeze. They couldn't have fallen or been taken by an animal - the pegs used were tight, he’d used four, and the edge of his underwear had been folded over the line and held in place. There was nobody around for at least sixty miles. He stood closer to the line, and his expression conveyed his total confusion. 

The pegs that held his boxers were still firmly on the line. 

 

* * *

 

Dean took down the rest of the clothes, folding them and putting them in the plastic basket he had balanced on his hip. The frown was etched into his freckled face until he went back inside. 

 "Hey Sammy?" He called out, putting the basket down on the washing machine in the kitchen. 

 "Yeah?" Sam yelled from their shared bedroom in the back of the cabin. 

 Dean wiped his hands on his jeans as he made his way to Sam. He stopped at the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb.

"You take my boxers? My favourite black ones?" 

"They're called boxer briefs, Dean." Dean waved his hand dismissively. 

"Whatever. You seen 'em?" 

Sam shook his head, tearing his eyes away from his book. "Nope. You put them out on the line this morning. I remember putting them in the basket along with the other clothes I washed and gave to you. Why?" 

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I can't find them. I was just bringing in the clothes. The pegs are still there, but my underwear isn't." He sighed. 

Sam's response was a muttered " _weird_ " and then Dean lost his little brother to the world of reading once more. Dean raised his eyebrows as he turned and returned to the kitchen. 

* * *

 

It happened again a week later. 

Dean walked outside in bare feet and nothing but grey sweatpants. It was a sunny afternoon and he was in a pretty good mood. He placed the basket beside his feet. 

 His hands pulled down the clothes and folded them, until his hand grabbed at empty space where his grey vest should've been. He let his head tilt back as an aggravated sigh pushed out of his throat. 

"Damn it," he snapped, pressing his full lips into a line. He roughly tugged down the rest of the clothes, haphazardly tossing them into the basket, pegs scattered in the grass. He balanced the basket on his hip once more. 

The sudden sound of leaves rustling registered vaguely. 

There was no wind on that day. 

* * *

 

It had begun to unsettle Dean, because he knew damn well his clothes weren't being blown off the line or being pulled down by any animals. 

 He rummaged through the cupboards for his whiskey. A swear took its place on his lips at the sight of the empty bottle. 

He threw on a grey T-shirt, pulled on his sneakers, and pressed earphones into his ears. Running to AC/DC and Led Zeppelin was a simple and effective method to burn off some steam. He scribbled a note for Sam on a notepad on the kitchen table, and set off. 

 He took off into the forest at a jog. 'Moneytalks' was blaring in his ears. By the time 'The Razor's Edge' had finished, he was running, feet thumping into the dirt. He kept the steady pace up for another two songs, then slowed down gradually. 

Once he was walking, he sat on a low-hanging tree branch as his heart rate regulated itself alongside his breathing. He gently pulled his earphones out. 

Dean let his eyes wander. 

They froze at a branch a couple of feet away from him. He jumped to his feet, sunlight filtering through the leaves to fall hot on his skin. It landed on his face, making the freckles more prominent and highlighting the gold flecks of his eyes. 

He darted over to the branch in question, fingers lifting. They fumbled pulling the inch-thick strip of fabric from the tree. 

Enough had torn off that there was a label on the tattered material. 

Dean's breath hitched. 

The branch was waist-height. 

This was torn from his shirt. 

* * *

 

He raced back to the cabin, earphones bouncing against his chest, fabric clutched tightly in white fingers. Low plants with thorns cut into his shins, catching on his sweatpants.

 It didn't slow Dean down. Some small thorned twigs actually stuck. Every breath pulled into his lungs hurt, but he couldn't care. Once the cabin was in sight, he noticed the door was open - Sam liked to sit outside and read, he was probably making tea inside. Dean tried to slow too late, and his momentum had him hurtling past the threshold, and directly into the wall opposite the door.

 The impact knocked him off his feet, drawing a swear from his burning lungs. He winced his way to his feet. His muscles were aching and his shoulder was throbbing from where it connected with the wall. Sam, holding onto the doorjamb, swung out, looking extremely concerned. 

"Dean!" Sam ran over, checking Dean for wounds with careful but speeding hands. Dean waved him off, but Sam still dropped to his knees, picking twigs and thorns from Dean's pant legs. 

He carefully lifted the cloth an inch or two to reveal angry red scratches beaded with blood. He made a clicking noise with his tongue as he straightened, expression instantly worried after a glance at Dean's eyes. 

"Dean, what happened? Why did you run into the wall?" He asked, extremely concerned. 

Dean couldn't breathe steady enough to answer. His reply was to lift the clenched fist holding the fabric. Sam had to pry open Dean's fingers.

He scanned it with confused eyes, not understanding. “Dean?”

Dean took one deep breath. “Sam, that’s _my_  vest. That’s off of my vest. It was on a branch at like fucking waist level - there’s no way it was a fucking animal!”

Sam’s brow furrowed, “you’re overthinking this. There’s one hundred and twenty five grizzly bears in that forest and - as much as I don’t like that thought - it could be one of those. It could be any of seventy wolves that live there or even a cougar. So I have no idea what you think it is, dude, but seriously, it could be any of these.”

Dean maintained eye contact for a solid fifteen seconds, then his shoulders sagged and he turned his face away. He wiped a hand over his face. “You’re right,” he admitted.

Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what he actually thought it was. A madman who went around stealing Dean’s clothes and wearing them while running through the forest?

That’s just whack.

He shook his head. “I’m just gonna take a shower, Sammy”

And he did take a shower. But if he jacked off while the hot water was pouring over his muscles, between his legs where two of his fingers resided, over his rock-hard erection while his hand slid up and down - well, that was his own business.

He sighed with contentment as the water ran over the tiles, clearing away the evidence of his orgasm. Nothing like masturbation to ease some of the tension he was carrying.

Sam thumped on the door. “Don’t use all the hot water.”

Dean turned off the shower, calling out, “Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.”

He practically felt Sam rolling his eyes at his comment. “Yeah, whatever, jerk.”

He wrapped a towel around his waist, unlocking and stepping out through the bathroom door. Sam raised an eyebrow at his older brother’s near-total nudity, but said nothing.

His eyes may have watched the beads of water roll down Dean’s back as he walked away from Sam and into their room, but who knows?

Once dry, Dean pulled on a clean pair of sweatpants and a plain red t shirt in order to do some housework. He padded into each room in bare feet, opening the curtains and cracking the windows to let in sunlight and fresh air.

It was when Dean decided to open the front door that he felt his heart stop. 

He saw a man in tattered clothing - _his_  tattered clothing - running into the line of trees, Dean’s hoodie grasped in his fingers.

* * *

 

Dean couldn’t force his feet to move for half a minute, he was just staring, mouth gaping. His feet jerked, nearly tripping him as he ran into the house. 

“Sam!” He yelled, banging on the bathroom door. “Sam! _OPEN THE DAMN DOOR_!”

Sam turned off the water, “What the hell is wrong, Dean?” He unlocked the door, towel around his waist, and his expression looked greatly concerned as soon as he saw the panic in  Dean’s green eyes.

Dean gripped Sam’s shoulder, with one hand up between their chests as if to maintain their distance, and to stop Sam from saying anything. “I saw him,” he said, his voice barely controlled.

“What? Dean, _who_?”

“The guy who’s been stealing my fucking clothes! I went to open the curtain and the front door and I saw him take off into the trees with my fucking hoodie!”

Sam’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “Are you gonna chase after him?” He asked after a moment.

There was a pause.

“Damn it,” Dean yelled, running into their bedroom to pull on his shoes. He slammed the door behind him as he exited, and instantly sprinted toward the trees.

Weeds and low branches whipped at his shins, drawing blood and stinging but Dean didn’t even feel it. Every breath hurt, his muscles screamed at him and his arms pumped relentlessly, and he refused to stop.

He caught sight of the man just as he disappeared through some bushes. Dean stopped just a few inches short of them, trying to calm himself down and catch his breath.

He closed his eyes as he inhaled, pawing his way through the bushes.

He froze.

The man had his back facing Dean, crouched low, forearms resting on his knees. It looked like he was burying the hoodie he’d just stolen. He was wearing Dean’s vest - tattered and dirty - and his underwear.

The man’s back looked deformed, like there was a child or something clinging to his back under the fabric.

Dean gasped, just a quiet, sharp intake of breath, but it was enough. The man shot straight up, spinning around, and he actually _hissed_. He had teeth like razors, all sharp edges and glistening white. 

The vest was torn down the middle completely, the edges ragged and dirty. The boxer briefs clung to him, relatively clean. He looked like he was packing.

His eyes were as blue as the sky, his jawline was strong and scruffy, hair dark and curled haphazardly. Underneath his eyes, though . . . Underneath each eye, were four little raised bumps. Like his skin was studded. And the bumps were the same blue of his eyes. There was also a line of these studs up the center of his throat. His ears were pointed.

Dean only then noticed that this man was holding up his hands as a sign of aggression - holding up his _claws_ \- leaning forward. The claws were about an inch extra onto already long fingers, the tips stained green, probably from chlorophyll.

Dean automatically took a step back, a startled “whoa” slipping from his lips. As his foot came down on a twig and the sound reverberated through his body, he realised the danger he was in. His hands shot up, placating. 

“Hey! Uh, hi,” he said, feeling stupid because he was floundering due to the fact that this _guy_ was fairly attractive. “I, uh, hi.”

The man straightened his back cautiously, claws lowering. His eyes narrowed, and his head tilted to the side. “Hello.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up as he inhaled, relieved. “I’m Dean,” he tried.

“I am Castiel,” he replied, guarded still.

“Castiel,” Dean swallowed. “Castiel, you, uh, you’ve been stealing my clothes.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Yes. I need them,” he admitted, speaking carefully.

_Okay_ , Dean thought to himself. _That’s completely normal. What the fuck do I do now?_  

He gestured to Castiel’s vest, meaning to ask him what happened to it. Instead what came out was, “What the hell is up with your back?” Dean’s eyes widened as he cursed himself internally.

Castiel’s expression didn’t shift and Dean was worried that he’d just fucked up. Badly.

Then his eyes softened, amused, and he actually smiled sideways, a small chuckle breaking the silence. Castiel spun on nimble feet, graceful, and his hands slid off the torn vest, down over each arm.

Dean covered his mouth with his hand. 

Castiel had fucking _wings_.

They were big even folded to his body, about the length from his tailbone to the back of his neck. And then he splayed them.

The outline of the wings and the spines of them were jet black, and the leathery skin, threaded with veins, was ocean blue, and translucent.

They spanned two arm-lengths per wing - Dean had no idea how they fit under that vest.

His feet stumbled forward, hand outstretched, and he laid it on Castiel’s wing. The wings twitched, causing the leaves at their feet to blow wildly, as he heard the gust that accompanied the movement. It sounded powerful.

Castiel actually laughed and Dean withdrew his hand like a flash. He turned back toward Dean, smirking mouth dangerously close, wings fluttering, causing a strong puff of wind to be blown into Dean’s face.

Dean had no idea what to say now, where to go with this situation. “Why did you steal my clothes?”

Castiel’s lips twisted to the side and he shook his head, sighing happily but apologetically. “My kin insist on weaving grass for clothes, but I don’t like it. Clothes are softer, warmer.”

“Your . . . Kin?” 

“We are fae-folk. I believe your culture call us “faeries,” but we tend to call ourselves fae-folk.”

Dean nodded, confused still. “Why were you burying my hoodie?”

Castiel looked away from him, claws coming up to gently scratch at his head. “It was for my sister, Anna. She - like the rest of our kin - despises humans. She didn’t want it to smell like human.”

Dean’s mouth was dry, he felt like he was definitely in danger now. “You hate humans?”

Castiel licked his lips slowly, deliberately, eyes cast downward. “When we made the choice to make our lives in this realm, your kind slaughtered ours. Called us witches and burned us at the stake. Murdered us for territory.” 

His eyes lifted slowly, raking over every inch of Dean’s body as he said, “Killed us because we were different.”

Dean nodded. “I don’t think you’re a freak,” he mumbled, feeling awkward. 

Castiel smiled at this. “Why thank you, Dean Winchester,” he grinned, bowing grandly. Before Dean could ask, he tapped a finger at his own temple. “We’re all gifted with psychic abilities. For survival. You’re trustworthy.”

“Can you . . . Could you walk back to my cabin with me? I could give you some clothes, if you want, and . . . “ He trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Castiel rustled his wings as he nodded, “I must make sure there are no threats.” With that, he flapped his wings, lifting him to a branch he chose, 30 feet off of the ground. He perched on the branch, feet bare, scanning the ground for anything that may be an adversary.

He leapt back down, wings beating against the air to allow him to land gracefully. Dean had to use his arms to protect his eyes from the disturbed leaves that swirled in the air.

Castiel met Dean’s eyes and nodded once, incredibly seriously. “We’re safe.”

Dean found himself staring, and snapped out of it. “Let’s go,” he said dumbly. 

Castiel walked in tandem, directly behind Dean. They didn’t speak until they reached the line of trees, and Dean gestured for Castiel to wait. “I have to get my brother to leave, right? You don’t want humans to know you exist?”

Castiel closed his eyes, face scrunched in concentration. Dean suddenly felt uneasy, and paranoid. As soon as Castiel opened his eyes, the feeling evaporated. _Strange_.

He smirked, and winked at Dean, walking toward the cabin, leaving Dean stunned and staring.

Castiel walked right up to the door, and he actually _knocked,_ folding his wings to his body so they weren’t visible from a frontal view.

From inside, a voice yelled, “Dean, it’s open,” but he there was a confused question in the voice. Rightly so, because who the hell would be around to knock on the door? Castiel knocked again.

He heard a muttered “what the-” and the door was pulled open. Sam Winchester stared at Castiel, eyes wide. His jaw dropped.

“Sam,” he said. 

Dean chose that moment to run up, sliding past Castiel to push his brother back into the house. “Fuck,” he said to himself. “Sam, don’t freak out.”

“Dean, who is that and how does he know my name?”

Dean glanced back to see Castiel lounging in the doorway, eyes lazily scanning the room. 

“His name’s Castiel. He’s the guy who was, uh, taking my clothes,” he said, realising how stupid he sounded.

“What-,” Sam started, then lowered his voice, leaning down slightly to speak into Dean’s ear. “What’s up with his face? His teeth?”

Sam’s eyes flicked to Castiel, then straightened when he realised Castiel was glaring at him, one leg propped up against the doorjamb as he leaned against it.

He stood forward, and kicked the door closed. Both Sam and Dean took defensive stances, Dean in front of his oversized little brother.

Castiel bared his teeth and splayed his wings.

Sam looked as if he was on the verge of passing out.

Castiel ran his tongue over his teeth. “There’s nothing _up_  with me, Winchester,” he growled. “I’m one of the fae-folk.” He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Sam, sneering. “We despise humans. But I’d assumed from Dean’s feelings toward you that you would be pleased with the knowledge of our existence.”

Sam’s breath hitched at the underlying hostility. “I-I-I am,” he stuttered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he marveled, probably at Castiel’s wings.

Castiel considered this, then dropped his shoulders and let his wings hang comfortably, nodding. “Accepted.”

Sam carefully took a less protective posture. “You speak English,” he noted.

Castiel licked his lips. “Yes. Certain members of our kin, on occasion, were said to have lived harmoniously with humans and our kind. They brought us this language. Our ancestors used to communicate through a telepathic connection, but we learned to speak and favoured it - I cannot fathom why - our telepathy has since dwindled to a mere echo of what it was. Personally, like my sister Anna, I dislike this language because we picked it up from _you_.”

Dean’s mind raced, feeling the hostility creep into Castiel’s tone once more.

“Dean,” Castiel turned his attention to him. “You’re wondering why I didn’t attack. Well, my initial instinct _was_ to tear your throat out.” He shrugged lazily with one shoulder. “Why didn’t I, that’s the question. There was just something in your brain that told me I’d be doing something stupid if I ripped you apart, and it seems I was right. You didn’t immediately alert other humans or try to hurt me. Don’t throw away the chance I’ve given you, Dean, I would hate to get myself covered in blood again.”

Dean was speechless, it was all he could do to nod. “I told him I’d give him clothes,” he said dumbly, addressing Sam.

“Okay, Dean,” Sam replied shakily.

Dean walked into their bedroom, Castiel following after throwing a smile at Sam, reciprocated nervously. 

Dean pulled a seldom-worn, long-sleeved, grey plaid shirt out of the drawers at the foot of his bed. Cautiously, he withdrew a switchblade.

Castiel’s eyes scrutinised him.

“Put this on,” Dean asked, handing the shirt to Castiel. Castiel pulled it on without unbuttoning it, mewling unhappily as it squished his wings to his body. 

Dean pressed the button on the weapon, the blade revealed. Castiel hissed. “Cas, trust me, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, whimpering once,  as Dean stood behind him. He slid one hand under the shirt, pulling it away from Castiel’s body and wings, cutting into nearly the entire length. He repeated that around an inch next to it.

He rearranged Castiel’s wings with delicate fingers, skimming over leathery skin to reach black spines, guiding them through the new holes in the fabric. Castiel relaxed visibly once his wings weren’t pinned down. 

He stretched his wings as far as he could until they touched the walls, then he spun to face Dean, fascinated and grateful. He accidentally knocked a lamp that was on top of the drawers, and withdrew his wings sheepishly. 

“Thank you Dean,” he said, eyes and face cast downward as a sign of gratitude and submission. 

Dean put the lamp back, smiling, “You’re welcome, Cas. How about some pants?”

Castiel lifted blue eyes, head still ducked, and nodded.

Dean sifted through his drawers, pawing various pairs of pants until he came upon the pair he was searching for. Soft, black, worn jeans that were a little small on Dean, so they’d probably fit Castiel.

He hesitated, holding them out, lips twisted to the side.

“Maybe you should shower first?”

Castiel looked at him blankly.

“You know, to get clean before you put on the clothes?”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side and he nodded.

Dean led him to their little bathroom, handing him the towels he’d need. 

Castiel was amazed by how soft they were. He rubbed them against his cheek, and Dean thought he heard him begin to purr. Dean chuckled.

“If you need a hand with anything, give us a shout,” he said, leaving Castiel to it.

Thirty seconds later, “Dean.”

Dean walked out of the kitchen, steaming black coffee in his hand. He stood outside the bathroom door, knocking with two of his knuckles. “Y’alright Cas?”

“Come in.”

Dean opened the door, and saw Castiel standing by the sink, towels in hand, looking unsure and uncomfortable. His head was ducked, and he looked ashamed. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

Dean left to put his coffee down on the table near the couch, then came back to stand in front of Castiel.

Dean gently took the smaller towel from Castiel’s arms, laying it out on the floor. He turned on the water, checking the temperature and nodding when satisfied.

He held Castiel’s hand under the spray, “That too hot?” Castiel shook his head, not looking up. 

Dean hung the other towel on the towel rack, and turned to face the faerie. He lowered his head to catch Castiel’s eye. Castiel squirmed under his gaze.

“I don’t know what to do,” he repeated. “I never had to ask for help before. I feel shame.” His cheeks grew red.

“You need a hand getting the shirt off over your wings?” Castiel nodded. “Okay, Cas, you unbutton it for me.”

Castiel seemed to withdraw into himself even more, “I can’t,” he mumbled.

Dean just nodded, and cautiously began unbuttoning the shirt for him.

Castiel’s eyes were scanning Dean’s face, he seemed mesmerised by the plethora of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. 

“Fold down your wings for me, Cas,” he murmured, and Castiel did as he was asked. Dean managed to slide the shirt over his wings, Castiel trying not to react to the feel of incredibly warm hands on his cool wings. It felt good.

He tossed the shirt aside. “Okay, Cas,” he said, turning away to grab a bottle of shower gel. “Take off the underwear when I’m gone, and when you’re all . . . Wet . . . put some of this on-” he reached up to the shower shelf and grabbed a sponge - “the sponge when it’s wet and clean yourself with it, then dry off with the towels and get dressed. Come out when you’re done.”

He turned to face Castiel and found himself staring at Castiel’s naked body. “Uh . . .” was all he managed to say.

Castiel’s penis had the same studding that he had under his eyes, in four lines, evenly spaced. They were as blue as the sky on a sunny day.

He dragged his eyes away, leaving Castiel to it. As soon as Dean closed the bathroom door, he rested his back against it, taking a deep breath before walking into the living room where Sam was reading.

Sam raised his eyebrows. He didn’t need to speak.

Dean sank into the couch next to him, sighing. “I don’t know, Sam.” He rubbed his tired eyes.

“Is he going to hurt us?” Sam asked, putting his book down gently.

Dean looked at his little brother.

He spent his entire life raising Sam, feeding him, clothing him, and protecting him. And it was Sam who picked Dean up, put the pieces back together, and got Dean back on his feet. They were codependent, had never lived apart from each other - except the brief period Dean had lived with Cassie, and Sam with Jess before the fire that killed her, they had still talked practically every day on the phone then - they needed each other.

And Sam was now worrying for their safety, because of this creature that Dean brought in.

Dean breathed deeply. “I don’t know, Sam. But I don’t think so. I mean, just there-” he gestured to the bathroom with his thumb “-he trusted me, asked me for help. I think we’re going to be okay with him. Provided we don’t threaten him.”

Sam held his gaze for another beat, then nodded, picking back up his book. “Okay, Dean.”

Castiel stood out of the bathroom, sweatpants slung low on his hips, shirt hanging from his hand. “I didn’t know how to turn off the water.”

Dean smiled blandly at Sam, patting his leg as he stood. Castiel slid past him as he entered the little bathroom. He turned off the shower and came back into the living room to see Castiel standing awkwardly by the couch, holding up the shirt sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean nodded, taking the shirt. “Open your wings back."

He did as he was told. Sam looked while trying to appear as if he was still reading, but the awe on his face was unmissable.

Dean guided Castiel’s wings into the slashes in the shirt, allowing it to rest comfortably on the faerie’s shoulders, wings unconstrained.

Castiel rolled his head, stretching out his neck with a shudder, ruffling and splaying his wings, content, amazed expression on his attractive face.

He lowered his head, wings spread as he bowed to Dean. “Thank you, Dean Winchester. Perhaps I have judged you too quickly. You are not like the other humans.” He straightened, and turned to Sam. He dipped his head once more, but didn’t bow. “Sam. Thank you.”

Sam shifted in his seat. “Sorry for being rude before, Castiel. I was just . . . Surprised.”

“Apology accepted.” He walked toward the door, but Dean’s voice made him pause.

“If you ever need help, Cas, you know where to find Sam or me.”

Castiel shut the door on the Winchesters.

* * *

 


	2. Counting the Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cas, what-"  
> "Shh," Castiel motioned, smiling at the sky with a strange expression of wonder. After a few moments of silence, the fireflies emerged.  
> They danced around Dean, who felt the wonder that Castiel's face displayed.

Dean was lying in his bed in the dark, wrapped up in his blanket and comforter, but sleep wasn’t going to come.

Not after he’d drifted off, only to be woken by a dream of blue-black wings, sharp teeth, long claws, and eyes so blue they were astounding. 

He sighed and flopped onto his stomach, the blankets bunching around his waist. He buried his face in his pillow, barely able to suck in air, only for a moment, before he decided that he in fact _did_ need to breathe.

His face was aimed toward Sam’s unconscious form, which just looked like an oversized black lump in the darkness of the room.

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard what sounded like a nail tap against his window. It looked too bright outside the window for it only being three o’clock. He scrambled up as quietly as he could, trying not to wake Sam. There was something glowing outside the window. And it _moved_. He gasped, pushing the curtains aside.

Castiel jerked back from the glass, just as startled as Dean. The blue studs under his eyes and on his throat - they were fucking _glowing_. Castiel looked tense and on edge, until he was able to see past the reflected light on the glass and see that it was just Dean.

Dean was not a threat. 

Castiel just tilted his head to the side, and smiled simply at Dean, relaxed. Dean stared for a beat, then got moving, not remembering to grab a pair of pants. He opened the backdoor, whispering loudly. “Cas? Cas!”

He saw the glow come around the corner before the faerie it preceded. “Dean,” he smiled, voice deliciously deep.

Dean gestured with his head for Castiel to go inside the cabin.

“What’s up Cas?” Dean asked, shutting the door silently.

Dean froze the moment he turned around, because Castiel was less than an inch in front of him, that same smile still on his face. 

Their eyes met.

“Uh . . . Cas? You’re, uh . . . You’re really close to me,” he stuttered.

Castiel’s eyebrow twitched slightly upward. “You touched me today. My wings.”

Dean felt the colour drain from his face. _Whatifthat’showhiskindproposeormarktheirterritoryorsomethingohgod._

“I’m sorry,” was all that Dean could force past his lips.

Castiel laughed. “Why are you apologising?”

Dean’s forehead creased in confusion. “I didn’t do something wrong and you’re not here to kill me?”

Castiel’s nose twitched, as if he was breathing in Dean’s scent. “Your hands are very warm. I enjoyed when you touched me.”

Dean’s cock twitched at that, the low rumble of Castiel’s voice, even though he probably wasn’t hinting at anything remotely sexual.

Castiel licked his lips before he continued, “I tried to sleep but all I could think about was your heat.” His blue eyes trailed Dean’s lean body and okay _maybe_ he was hinting at something sexual.

“You want to sleep here?” Dean asked dumbly.

“With you,” Castiel added casually.

Dean inhaled deeply and nodded, tongue swiping over his plump bottom lip. "Okay, but you have to be really quiet. I don't want to wake Sam and have him see . . . Us."

Castiel laughed low, trailing after Dean.

Dean climbed into bed, thankful Sam's face was aimed towards the wall, so Castiel's glow wouldn't disturb him. Castiel climbed in next to Dean, facing him. Dean wrapped the blankets around them both, able to see the faerie's face perfectly in his glow.

Castiel's eyes were scanning Dean's face, carefully but quickly. Then he let out a quiet growl, flipping Dean onto his back and crouching over him, balancing easily on nimble feet. Dean froze stunned, as the other man was close enough that they were breathing each other's air.

Castiel's head was tilting very slowly to the side, and he was whispering very low.

"Cas," Dean said, uncomfortable. "What are you doing?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Counting the . . . " He struggled to find the word. "Freckles," he squinted.

Sam snored once as he rolled over, arm flopping off of the bed, face mushed into his pillow.

Dean's and Castiel's eyes shot straight to Sam at the first sound.

Their eyes slowly turned back to each other's, but only once Dean had relaxed and knew Sam wouldn't wake. Castiel must've felt it.

Castiel then started sniffing Dean, nose nudging under his jaw, down his neck. He sounded like a puppy.

He pushed his face into the crook of Dean's neck, purring.

Sam snored once more, loudly, then the next noise that graced the air was a " _what the hell?_ " from Sam as he sat up.

Castiel hissed on instinct, springing up from Dean's neck, baring sharp claws and teeth. Sam raised placating hands.

Castiel lowered his defenses, apologising quietly while moving off of Dean, who was scrambling to sit up.

"Back to sleep, Sam," he said. "I'll explain in the morning."

Sam slipped from his bed, dragging his blankets with him. "Gonna sleep on the couch," he yawned. "The faerie's glowin'."

As soon as the door clicked behind the sleepy moose, Castiel lay back down next to Dean, wings hanging off the bed, staring into his eyes.

"Green," he rumbled in his deep voice.

Dean said nothing, but nodded, all he could think was _blue . . . blue . . . blue._

"None of the fae-folk have green eyes. Or freckles. Or so much _heat_ ," he emphasised, stretching against Dean, mewling softly. He buried his head in Dean's neck again, inhaling the musky scent while Dean placed tentative arms around him.

If Dean was the sun, then Castiel was a cat or a dog basking in the rays, trying to take all that he could and stretching, yawning contentedly, being filled with happiness as the warmth coursed through him.

Except Dean was just a man, and Castiel was a faerie, wrapped in his warm embrace. And loving it.

Dean fell asleep to the soft sound of Castiel's purring.

* * *

Dean awoke to a loud thump and a hiss, because Castiel had fallen out of the bed. Dean laughed, and he heard Sam laughing from the living room.

"Dude, did he just fall out of bed?" Sam called.

Dean chuckled, yelling back, "You know it," while Castiel grumbled as he got to his feet, glaring at Dean.

Dean's breath hitched at the sight of Castiel's sleep-mussed hair, his tired eyes, the tongue swiping lazily over his lips - he looked well-fucked.

Dean chewed on his lower lip, throwing the blankets off himself. "Gonna take a shower," he mumbled, hoping to God he didn't have a boner.

He padded into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The sunlight pouring in through the window had warmed up the small room. The floor was white tile (" _easier to clean, Dean, we're getting tile. What? Because I_ want _it white. God_ ") with a soft bath mat placed in front of the shower. Dean turned on the water and made sure it was as hot as he liked it.

He allowed his mind to wonder as the soap was rinsed from his skin.

He could feel the echo of Castiel's body pressed up against his own, the warm puff of breath against his face, soft mewls pushing past pink lips, the twitching of wings causing a disruption in the air, and the beautiful face snuggled into his neck. And yeah, _there_ was that erection he staved off.

He bit down on his knuckle to muffle a moan as he slid his hand up and down the hard length, breathing hard. He tilted his head back, letting the hot water pour over over his face and down his neck.

He let the now-idle fingers of his free hand trail to his ass, where the slid down the crease to press over the entrance. His breathing picked up.

He pushed his index finger in, not able to stifle the soft moan in time. He hoped Sam and Castiel weren't within earshot. When he knew he could take it, he added another finger, stretching himself open. He found his prostate with the pads of his fingers and he had to bite his lip to quiet the sound he knew he was going to make.

Dean pressed his forehead against the cool tile, panting, stroking that little bundle of nerves inside him. He gasped soundlessly, hips thrusting forward and back down onto his fingers.

His throat seemed to close, and he squeezed his eyes shut when his orgasm hit.

He shut off the water once his cum was washed from the tile, wrapping a towel around his waist. He used another, smaller towel to rub his hair until it wasn't dripping anymore.

He walked out to the bedroom, whistling, seeing Castiel curled up in a ball on his bed. Castiel uncurled while Dean was shuffling through his drawers.

"Hey hey sleepy head," he chuckled.

Castiel eyed him warily. "My head is not sleepy," he said, suspicious.

Dean grinned as he padded over to the window, sliding open the curtains and cracking open the window to let in fresh air. He was so distracted by the beautiful view of sunlight filtering through the trees and little birds flitting about, that he didn't notice Castiel crawling across the bed and curiously sliding a finger between Dean's hips and the towel. He noticed, of course, just as it was about to slip off, and managed to catch it up against his crotch - leaving his ass exposed.

Castiel drew back like a flash, giggling quietly while Dean yelled "DAMN IT," and Sam was laughing hysterically from the living room. He'd seen it all. Dean didn't close the bedroom door.

Dean pointed furiously to the door, which Castiel dutifully walked through to a happy Sam having giggling fits on the couch.

He closed the door after Castiel made his exit, and hastily dressed himself in jeans, a plain grey shirt under a blue flannel.

He pushed a hand through his hair, fighting back the sudden, intense wave of self hatred and self-consciousness that always was there when he was alone. Usually when he was with people, he pretended to be happy, and most of the time he did it so well that even _he_ believed he was happy. But he never was. As soon as all of the eyes were off him, he felt disgusting, uncomfortable in his own skin, and all he could hear pounding into his head was _hate hate hate_. He needed this time here, alone with his brother. There wasn't a plan for anybody else. A bed for Sam, and a bed for Dean. Food for two.

He swallowed down the hate as it threatened to make him gag, with the back of a hand to his lips. He inhaled deeply, letting that mask he wore with others fit into place. Not enough for him to smile while he was alone, but enough to feign the illusion of happiness.

_Pfft, happiness._

He opened the door.

Castiel was curled up on the couch next to an awkward Sam, one wing slouched over him, the other dangling from the back of the couch. Castiel immediately perked up at Dean's scoff, straightening, wings splaying in surprise. "Dean!" He smiled.

Sam took the opportunity to stand, slinking past Dean with raised eyebrows and a wan smile, going for a shower.

Dean motioned with his head for Castiel to follow him as he strolled out of the back of the cabin. Castiel obliged. The sun was shining and Dean let the smile take its place on his face. He reached into his baby's window, pulling out a cloth.

He ran the cloth over the Impala's hood, whispering, "We'll go for a ride soon, baby, just you, me, Sam, and Zeppelin. Wide open roads, where you belong, windows down, music blaring . . . " He sighed. "I miss you baby."

Castiel watched Dean talk to his car, amazed he placed such a vast amount of love into an inanimate object. His ears twitched, and he shook out his wings. He spread them, then began to beat them enough to lift his feet off of the ground. Only an inch. His eyes closed as he smiled softly.

He gently lowered himself back onto the grass, then stretched out his back, hands high above his head. He yawned, then smiled at Dean, who was watching with awe.

"I love your wings," spilled from Dean's lips.

Castiel felt himself blush. He drew his wings into his body, suddenly self conscious. Dean stretched out a hand, touching Castiel's left wing.

Castiel shuddered at the contact, the appendage extending of its own accord. He whimpered quietly. "So warm," he whispered. He let his eyes fall closed as Dean's fingers trailed fire along the webbing of his wings.

His eyes flew open the moment he felt a pair of lips pressed against his own.

They were gone far too soon, but Castiel couldn't seem to pull any air into his lungs.

Dean took one look at the faerie's face and swore. "Shit. Cas, Cas, I'm sorry. Shit. I don't know what came over me."

Castiel looked to him, dazed, and pulled the man in for another kiss, longer. Dean's lips tentatively parted against his and Castiel took the opportunity to trace his tongue along that plump bottom lip he was always staring at. Dean made a noise deep in his throat, and wrapped his arms around Castiel's middle, slipping his tongue into Castiel's mouth.

"Oh Cas," he moaned. He turned them around, pressing Castiel against the impala. Castiel wrapped his wings around Dean's body. Dean lay Castiel down on the hood of the car, trailing a hand up the faerie's side, under the fabric of his shirt. He could feel his own dick hardening in his jeans.

He began bucking his hips against Castiel's, and _oh yes_ , he was definitely feeling a similar bulge in Castiel's pants. He slipped his hand between their two bodies, rubbing Castiel's erection as the faerie wrapped nimble legs around Dean's waist.

They weren't even kissing anymore by this point, just panting into each other's mouths, as Castiel seemed to be pawing with desperation at Dean's belt, unable to open it.

Dean pulled back, against all instincts, and slid open his belt and jeans. He surged forward once more, going for Castiel's neck, biting and sucking bruises into the pale skin. His breath hitched at the first touch of Castiel's hand on his cock. He pulled Castiel's free from his pants, and Castiel seemed to follow the action.

Dean took both of their dicks in his hand and the studding on the faerie's had Dean cumming nearly instantly.

"Ah shit," he gasped, sliding his hand up and down their lengths.

Castiel sucked in another breath, whimpering Dean's name until his words choked off, back arching, wings splaying, fingers grasping at empty space, cumming over Dean's hand. He was squirming and panting, eyes screwed shut.

Dean's legs nearly gave out at Castiel being so undone. Another moan from Castiel's lips and Dean's own dam broke, cum spilling over his fingers.

He practically collapsed against the faerie on the car's bonnet, panting. "Cas," he whispered, kissing the line of his jaw.

He tugged up his own pants and Castiel's, a sheepish grin on his flushed face. He jerked his head back toward the house. "We should get cleaned up."

Castiel's dazed eyes met his, and he nodded, planting his feet on the grass. Then followed Dean back into the little cabin, where he wiped them where necessary with a small cloth.

Sam was sitting on the couch, sipping green tea, book in hand. Castiel sat next to him - more like crouching, up on his feet rather than actually sitting. The book in Sam's hand seemed to catch the faerie's eye, but only briefly. Usually, Sam would just carry on reading in the presence of others, except on this occasion. He closed the book and turned to face Castiel.

"So, um, Cas," he tested the name cautiously. Castiel seemed to not mind. "You guys hate humans. But you . . . ?"

Castiel considered this with a neutral expression. "I don't hate without cause. I'm curious about humans. My brethren just hate because it's been ingrained into their minds. They could never embed that hate into me. Though I do feel a certain anger toward your kind for killing so many of the fae-folk, I know it's ridiculous to harbor hatred toward an entire specie for the actions of their predecessors."

Sam nodded, impressed.

Dean joined them on the couch, steaming coffee cup in hand. Castiel's eyebrow raised inquisitively, regarding the drink. The corner of Dean's mouth raised as he passed the cup into Castiel's eager hands. He tentatively sipped the hot liquid, face scrunching up in a way that had Sam and Dean burst into laughter. Castiel handed back the cup, shaking his head, face still pinched.

"Bitter," he remarked. Sam sipped his tea while Dean sipped his coffee, and simultaneously choked on it when Castiel added, "The taste is only pleasant on Dean's tongue."

Sam could barely breathe and he was stuck between coughing and laughing, whereas Dean was just about hacking up a lung.

"Dean, you kissed him!" Sam squealed between fits of giggles.

Dean was too busy choking. Sam clapped a massive hand on his back to help him, and Dean's face was red by the time his breath was steady - more embarrassment than just exertion. "Shut up, Sam," he retorted weakly.

Castiel was watching the exchange with a curious smile curling his lips.

"Males do not experience attraction to other males in your culture?" Castiel aimed the question at Sam.

Sam wiped his eyes, catching his breath. "Oh, they do. I always knew Dean did, no matter what he said to me. Do the, uh, fae-folk experience attraction the same sex?"

"It's unheard of. Do you have a name for it?"

Sam cleared his throat, still smiling, though calm. "Homosexual. Or gay."

"Gay," Castiel pondered questioningly, which had Sam off into another fit of giggles. Castiel found his mood elated to see Sam so happy. Dean was grinning sheepishly.

"So, Cas, when are you heading back to your folks?" Dean inquired, changing the topic with incredible subtlety.

Castiel's tongue swiped over his lips. "As the sun starts descending, I'm required to forage for my kin. I have time," he nodded, mouth quirked up at the sides.

The next few hours were wasted watching movies on Sam's laptop that had been placed on the coffee table. A few times, Castiel would tilt his head, squint his eyes and question some element of the movie.

Once the sun started setting, Dean patted Sam's knee as he stood. He gestured toward the front door with a thumb. "Cas has to go."

The air outside was cool but the sun's rays still held heat. It was definitely one of the nicest days they'd had in a few weeks. True to form, the sun was setting beautifully, reds, oranges and pinks streaking the darkening sky.

The crackling of leaves drew Dean's attention from the sky. A snapped stick was held in Castiel's hands. He just shrugged and let it drop, crouching next to it, eyes scanning the line of trees.

"Hunt," he whispered.


	3. But He's Not A Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: hunting//animal death
> 
> Castiel's wings shivered and disturbed the number of fireflies that landed on him, drawing a laugh from his lips. The fingers that skimmed over the black spines were welcomed. Dean's touch would not be refused.

He started toward the trees, moving silently on the balls of his feet. Dean followed with caution, surprisingly quiet for a man of his stature.

Castiel would pause at every sound, nose twitching. His eyes narrowed and locked onto a rabbit, ten feet away. He bared his teeth, pacing to his right while crouched so the wind wasn't blowing from him and to the small animal. The rabbit was too concerned with eating whatever it had to notice Castiel, who was too stealthy to even be heard.

The quiet steps brought him close enough to the creature that he could just reach out and grab it. But Castiel waited.

He snapped his teeth together, making a small clicking noise to get the rabbit to jerk and raise its head up. Then Castiel struck. He darted with his hand, snatching the rabbit by its neck. Dean could only watch, shocked, as Castiel gripped the animal's head, ignoring its flailing desperate limbs. He wrung its neck in one sharp, quick motion, and the movements ceased. The sound was nauseating to Dean.

Castiel held it up triumphantly, grin plastered on his face, as he turned to face Dean, nodding happily.

A small amount of time had passed, they had been in the forest for maybe seven minutes. But the killing of the rabbit had paled Dean's pallor. The returned smile on his face felt fake and forced, but he added a thumbs-up and Castiel seemed too pleased with himself to mind that he had affected Dean negatively.

Castiel carried on hunting for another half hour, coming up with four birds, another rabbit, and even a coyote, which he had thrown a sizable rock at, and then stabbed in the throat with a broken stick.

He led Dean back to the cabin, hugging him before departing with his kills.

"Dean, you alright?" Sam asked as Dean sat on the couch.

"Yeah. Cas was hunting. Not foraging. _Hunting_."

The corners of Sam's mouth turned down. "Hunting what?"

Dean swallowed. "He snapped a rabbit's neck in front of me and stabbed a coyote in the throat. The other birds and rabbits he killed, I didn't see. I hung back so I could throw up." _But he's not a monster_ , Dean thought.

"Well," Sam nodded, shifting in his seat. "His family need to eat to survive." He stood, getting a glass of water for his brother. Dean drank it in two gulps.

He smiled weakly at Sam. "Let's watch something, yeah?"

They ended up watching The X Files together for two hours. A knock at the door had Castiel tugging Dean into the forest by the hand, smiling, studs on his face and throat glowing.

It felt magical, and surreal.

Castiel jumped nimbly through the trees, Dean following with surprising agility. Castiel had brought them to a small clearing. The clearing was only maybe twenty square feet, one fallen tree in the middle, where Dean sat.

"Cas, what-"

"Shh," Castiel motioned, smiling at the sky with a strange expression of wonder. After a few moments of silence, the fireflies emerged.

They danced around Dean, who felt the wonder that Castiel's face displayed.

To say the setting was "romantic" would be an incredible understatement. Castiel took his place next to Dean. Dean's hands lifted and cupped the faerie's face, kissing him. The night breeze brushed their skin, lips pressed together, their breath mingling. Dean's hands curled into Castiel's hair, drawing a small, contended noise from his blue-studded throat. Castiel's blue-black wings wrapped protectively around both of them. Light from fireflies was visible through the membrane of his wings, and the inside was comfortably lit by Castiel's glow-studs.

Castiel's wings shivered and disturbed the number of fireflies that landed on him, drawing a laugh from his lips. The fingers that skimmed over the black spines were welcomed. Dean's touch would not be refused.

Castiel had to stifle a moan that threatened breaking the silence as those fingers trailed fire on the faerie's wings. It didn't go unnoticed. Dean stepped closer, fingers brushing over where the wings met the skin of his back, gently massaging. There was that moan he held back, quietened though by the bite of a lip.

He let his wings drop, pulling them in close to his body, and Dean seized the opportunity to reach _between_ his wings, working the skin and muscle. Another sound escaped Castiel's lips, a whimper, and Dean traced the black spines as they kissed once more. On impulse, Castiel surged forward, resulting in their feet tangling. The movement sent them crashing to the ground, Castiel hissing, and a startled "whoa!" from Dean.

They both laughed. The sound was cut off by another kiss, Castiel rolling to straddle Dean, pressing the line of his erection against Dean's.

"Before I met you, Dean, I had never experienced cataglottism," Castiel murmured. It stumped Dean, who knew his way around a book but wasn't a literary genius. The urge to ask what he meant was denied.

"Sit on the broken tree, Cas," Dean urged softly. It was a suggestion quickly obeyed.

The smile on the faerie's face was, in Dean's completely unbiased opinion, breathtaking. His fingers danced along Castiel's hips, down to his pants. Castiel shifted to help Dean open and slip his pants down to mid-thigh. In his mind, the first and foremost event taking place was apodyopsis. He shook out the mental imagery and set to the task at hand.

He took Castiel's erection into his hand, balancing his knees on the soft forest floor. The sensation caused his own cock to twitch, and he felt himself salivate. "Oh God," he whispered, pressing his tongue to the length of Castiel's penis.

A groan escaped Castiel's mouth and it was mirrored by Dean, though quieter. He swallowed down what he could of the length, tongue flicking at the slit. The movement drew a plethora of sweet noises from the winged being.

Dean sucking cock was certainly a sight. It was something he only did if he _really_ wanted the other person's cock in his mouth, which was pretty rare. But he knew what he was doing. What he didn't know was how much of the experience for the other person was due to the aesthetic.

A man of Dean's stature - Six foot one, one hundred and seventy pounds, sixteen inch biceps . . . Those beautiful green eyes framed by long, golden lashes, the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, the strong jaw. A man like that, who would come across as the dominant type, on his knees, full, plump, pink lips stretched around a hard cock, perfect tongue lapping, those eyes practically begging for more, obscene sounds being drawn from the friction - it was an unforgettable spectacle. Dean Winchester knew how to suck cock. What he didn't know was that part of what made him so successful, was just _him._

His tongue slipped around where the length met the head, teasing out drops of precome and sweet moans. All Dean was focusing on, with closed eyes, were the flicks of his tongue that made Castiel twitch, what made his breath catch in his throat, what drew more precome from the slit. He pulled off with a faint pop, kissing along the shaft as he looked into Castiel's eyes, then sucked the length back into his mouth, working with a vengeance, swirling his tongue, hollowing out his cheeks, twisting his hand, pulling the faerie to a strong orgasm.

The come spilled onto Dean's tongue, and he swallowed it all down without complaint, slipping his hand into his pants to bring himself to the same state as Castiel, come splattering onto fallen leaves and brush. He slumped against Castiel's legs until he felt he could hold himself, and got to his feet, tucking both of them back into their pants.

An angry hiss came from the trees. _Castiel._

Dean instantly tensed, as Castiel jumped to his feet. "Anna!" He exclaimed.

Dean saw the golden glow from the female faerie's cheekbones and neck, teeth bared aggressively. She crouched down, ready to pounce. The air was static.

A snarl erupted from Anna's throat, claws raising. "He's a human, Castiel," she spat.

The hoodie that Castiel had stolen from Dean was now covering Anna's petite body. Traditionally, the fae-folk were bred with extreme caution about humans, but it evolved over time into complete hatred. Very few felt any different. Castiel was one. He was always the more cautious faerie, sneaking out past the treeline at night, being the only one brave enough to snatch human clothes for Anna or himself, not being afraid to fight any of the larger wildlife. That being said, Anna was a fierce fighter. She killed her first bear at only nine years old, was extremely territorial, but loved Castiel with everything she had. They were nearly inseparable since their parents died a decade previously after accidentally eating poisonous berries. Anna suspected foul play from Naomi - a sly, spiteful faerie - but had to say nothing to keep the peace in their colony.

"It's okay," Castiel insisted firmly. "I trust this human."

Very, very slowly, Anna straightened. "Okay. Just for you," she replied pointedly.

Shaking out his wings, Castiel raised his eyebrow. "What are you doing out here, Anna?"

"Fight with Raphael," she responded, her chin sticking out defiantly. It was then that his eyes flicked over her body to check for wounds, and he found a slash in the meat of her left upper arm. He rushed forward.

Anna held out her arm for him, angry tears filling up her hazel eyes. She flinched when he picked up her outstretched arm, and pulled it close to his face to inspect the cut.

"Oh Anna," he murmured, while Dean just watched, enraptured. He observed as Castiel tore some moss off of the side of a tree and wrapped it around her injured arm.

"What did he say? I have told you he can be . . . Aggravating," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I know you have a temper."

"I injured him worse," she spat. "He won't die from it. He insulted you, Castiel! Insulted your intelligence. Because you steal clothes from the humans. He said it was stupid and reckless and then likened your intelligence to that of a new bird. I couldn't let him get away with it."

Castiel didn't respond, just wrapped her up in a warm hug. When they pulled apart, Anna looked to Dean. He waved awkwardly.

"I am Anna," she said, the previous hostility leaving her voice.

"I'm Dean."

"You are not coming to see our colony," Anna stated, leaving Dean confused.

"I, uh, no? No, I'm not. It's dangerous, right?" He asked, unsure. She nodded, mouth twitching with a flare of anger.

”They will tear you apart like a dry leaf,” she said, smirking. 

Dean was in way over his head.


End file.
